Prometheus Storm
by Darkest90
Summary: The story of Prometheus, 12 years Before Senna, and his invasion of Everworld. An Everworld Fan-Fic.


Chapter One  
  
"How goes it Egil?" Wayland yawned, twirling a large hammer on his fingertips as if it was a stylus. As he yawned, the gigantic forge behind him roared with fire and he felt the enormous heat behind him, as if sitting by a sun god.  
  
"The Mayans want to send all seven of their war gods to try and take over, now." Egil laughed, scratching his neck with an arrow that could have shish- kabobbed four humans. Egil wore a chain mail shirt, a chain mail helmet, and a chain mail battledress under a purple cloak. He sat on a simple chair next to a window.  
  
"Kukulcan plays his cards well, but he won't have us." Wayland stroked his short, clean-shaved beard, "When do they come?"  
  
"They come soon, better get started. I'll get the shafts."  
  
Wayland, the Anglo-Saxon god of blacksmiths, lit up his gigantic forge with a single breath. The forge went out of control, roaring and sputtering flames everywhere. The smith-god opened a small compartment near the forge and from it took a load of coal that could have crushed a man. With one heave it was in the forge, keeping it so hot that every flame was a dark blue. Wayland didn't break a sweat; it would take much more than this to make him tire.  
  
The smith-god produced a large dirty sack from the compartment and, as with the coal, threw it into the furnace. The burlap burnt up before landing inside the forge, leaving a mass of raw ore. With his hands, Wayland separated the impurities from the iron and molded it to a large block of incandescent red iron.  
  
He took the block with both hands, his hands staying as cool as a spring night's breeze, and set it upon his anvil. At this time he heard his brother, Egil, come in with a hundred arrow shafts, and started to attach a plethora of rainbow feathers to each wooden shaft.  
  
Wayland took his hammer in one hand and placed the metal underneath. For the millionth time in his life, he swung the gigantic smith's hammer at the iron block underneath. The metal flattened and was made stronger with every blow of the smith god, and in five blows the large block of iron had been spread to a sheet of glistening metal.  
  
Wayland shifted the hammer to his other hand and landed his most powerful blow to the sheet of iron. As he did so, the metal separated into a hundred small, light, perfectly sharp arrowheads. "Egil, hurry up with those shafts."  
  
"Done already." Egil chuckled, and Wayland turned to look at him relaxing in his chair by the window.  
  
"Here they come, there's a lot of them. Seven war gods, Wayland! I wonder if we can take them." Egil laughed again, and took from his quiver an outsized composite long bow and pulled upon its string. Of course, the war gods themselves weren't approaching the fortress, but their Mayan legions were, in all their glory. Feathers everywhere, green and blue and red. Each warrior held a spear and a shield, and many had short bows as well. The Mayans were strong and lean, deadly fast with a quick eye and a strategic mind.  
  
They wouldn't stand a chance.  
  
Egil chuckled at the battle to come. Wayland did not, and attached the arrowheads to the individual shafts.  
  
"Okay, here you go, I'll be working on some larger arrowheads." Wayland took his hammer again and set to work on a new batch of arrows.  
  
"And the game begins." Egil took his long bow and knocked half of the arrows Wayland had prepared, about sixty. The Mayans broke into a run towards the fortress. Egil pulled back the bow with all his godly strength. He aimed. Let go.  
  
The arrows sailed out of the window like scattering fishes. A cloud of scared birds. Each arrow had its own course. They found their marks, each arrow. About sixty Mayans fell.  
  
Egil knocked another arrow, pulled back and fired at the same time. Before the speeding arrow hit, he had knocked another one. The illusion was of a hundred archers firing at once. Not one arrow missed. They all found their targets. But here came the gods themselves.  
  
Wayland looked behind his back to his brother, rapidly firing the arrows. As Egil was firing each arrow, Wayland was making another one. He was literally handing Egil each arrow as he made them, so fast his work. He had whispered to the arrow shafts to attach themselves to the arrowheads, and it makes his work easier.  
  
"Bloody. Its Ahulane!" Egil moaned. Ahulane, the Mayan war god and patron of archers, sat atop a hill with his own bow, firing black arrows down at the battlefield. He did so at the same pace Egil himself had. But each of the Mayan black arrows were aimed at Egil's own speeding arrows, saving the lives of many of the Mayans.  
  
The Mayan warriors found that their god had protected them from the speeding arrows, and they finally reached the fortress. They swung their swords at the structure, dislodging the stones.  
  
Egil tried to fire faster, and in doing so his arrows were becoming lit with fire. A sweat drop fell from his brow. Where it landed, a single rose sprouted from the floor. The fiery arrows flew faster, and began to once more hit their targets.  
  
Ah Chuy Kak would not have this. He was disguised as one of the Mayan warriors, but let himself grow to his full size. The Mayan god of war threw his hands open, and the fire of the arrows went out.  
  
"In Odin's name." Wayland muttered. His forge was cold and fireless. The fire had vanished.  
  
Buluc Chabtan, Ah Hulneb, and Nacon, three Mayan war gods joined the fray and reared to their full height.  
  
"More arrows, Wayland." Egil moaned, keeping his arrows flying. Wayland muttered something and the fire suddenly appeared in the forge.  
  
***  
  
A large, muscular young man strolled across another hill, almost to his destination. He was definitely in Anglo-Saxon territory; the clouds above marked the province. A light rain fell upon him, causing steam to rise from his body, for he was entirely engulfed in fire. As he stepped upon the wild grass beneath, the ground paved itself to a cobblestone road. In front of him were wild grasses, but behind him was a well-made road.  
  
This was Nusku, the Assyrian god of fire and civilization. He was also a messenger. Not for his own pantheon of rag-tag gods, he had long since given up on them. He was made to civilize the wilderness, make roads where needed, and make travel possible. Nusku served a new, benevolent master now, a Titan. But his master had given him a freedom that Mylitta or Ashtoreth could have never provided.  
  
As Nusku climbed the next hill he saw his destination. Built into the side of a hill was a small yet finely built fortress. It had two levels and many windows. This was Angloshire Stronghold, the only home for the three old Anglo-Saxon gods that still existed. The Anglo-Saxon gods were known for their energy and willpower, but they were also very weak gods. Many gods were extremely hard to kill, and except for Ka Anor, god-killers are unheard of.  
  
That is why the Anglo-Saxon gods are near dead, but unlike the Egyptian gods, they are almost extinct because they are easy to kill. A mere mortal weapon, if wielded correctly, could kill one of them.  
  
But they were strong, and not easily brought down, and that is why this place exists. Many of their worshippers are from other lands, seeking a place in the fertile plains worshipping the Three. Already Nusku had passed three villages in which he brought the gift of roads, they were a simple people with simple things, but they were pleased to give to the Assyrian god.  
  
Angloshire Stronghold was under attack. Nusku spotted seven Mayan gods in the back of legion, leading the warriors on. And from the stronghold came a volley of arrows, seemingly endless, each on fire.  
  
Nusku walked calmly down, the road following him, and to the large door of the fortress. He avoided the warriors and the arrows, even though none could wound him. The door was locked, but Nusku knocked upon it and then opened it and walked through. A Mayan warrior, seeing this, rushed towards the door, seeing it unlocked. However, when he pulled upon the handle, he found it locked once more.  
  
An arrow hit the Mayan and he fell, dead.  
  
***  
  
"We are going to lose." Wayland sighed, handing a fist full of arrows to Egil.  
  
"Not a chance." Egil quickly retorted, keeping his keen eye on the battlefield. Suddenly, a black Mayan arrow found its way into his chest.  
  
"AH!" Egil gave a shout of surprise. Egil, unlike other gods, felt pain. He kept on firing, but kept one eye on his wound. In one flash of his hand, he pulled the arrow out of his body and knocked it into his bow and fired it.  
  
"Hello boys." Came a feminine voice from the door behind Wayland. It was a voice that started soft but grew in volume at the end of the sentence.  
  
"How ya doin' Ostara?" Egil said, knocking another arrow.  
  
Ostara was an old goddess, older than even Egil and Wayland, but she still appeared young. Her clothes were gold and pink, the colors of the rising sun. She was a fertility goddess and also the inventor of Easter. She took Angloshire Fortress as her home but spent many days away from home, in the small villages or beyond that, helping hungry children and the like.  
  
"You think we are winning?" Ostara asked, sitting down in a chair beside Egil. She was calm besides the fact that Mayan warriors were trying to come through the window in which Egil was firing through. Each one that tried felt an arrow through his chest. Ostara did not like the picture of death, and turned away.  
  
"When were you so. interested in. the Games?" Egil asked, speaking between every shot of his bow.  
  
"I was thinking of a festival next Sunday. All three villages could gather here and we'd have a light party. That's what this lands needs, some happiness. Maybe show a little of sun amidst all these clouds." She explained, her voice like laughing children, hands in her lap. Grass was growing up through the cracks of the stone, where her feet were.  
  
"And." Egil asked, pulling back his bow for a very far shot.  
  
"And." Ostara stroked her hand across Egil's wound, "Maybe I could borrow some of the power you win?"  
  
The smith god looked down at Ostara's amorous hand across his chest. Then back at the battlefield.  
  
"I don't know. Ostara. Looks like we are going. to lose. for once. I still have some. left over power. if you need it. I'm not. doing anything. important this weekend." Egil replied.  
  
"Thank you Egil. I knew your heart was as supple as the metals you work with. Unlike some gods." Ostara glared behind her at Wayland, who was carefully trying not to make eye contact with the goddess.  
  
Egil smiled as Ostara gracefully left. He gave a smile to his brother, and Wayland just gave him an angry look.  
  
***  
  
Ostara walked through the halls of the fortress, taking a tunnel to the backside of the hill where she could leave in peace. The empty corridor made her feel sad, especially with the sun nowhere in sight. Then, amidst the darkness, she saw a light other than her own.  
  
From out of the corner approached a well-built Assyrian god, a fire god, probably, for his skin was bronze and he gave off a fiery light.  
  
"Hello." Ostara started, confused and frightened.  
  
"The good goddess Ostara." The god bowed, and then looked at her firmly.  
  
"I must deliver a message to the gods Egil and Wayland. Where would they be?" the god asked, every word making his body glow with hidden embers. Ostara, being polite, did not shy away from the heat but she was annoyed by it.  
  
"They are back in the forging room. Go through the hall behind me, turn on your second corner and to the door at the end of the hall." She gave directions.  
  
"Thank you." And with that the god was off, past Ostara and making his way to the two gods.  
  
Ostara sighed, "Everworld." and then continued her journey to the back door.  
  
***  
  
There was a thump from the ceiling.  
  
"Great, they've invaded from the top. They are going to take us soon!" Wayland moaned, "I'm going to see if I can stop them myself."  
  
Wayland took his forging hammer as his only weapon, soot all over his clothes, and marched to the door. With one swing of his arm the door flew open, leaving him face to face with another god.  
  
"Hey. its against the rule-" Wayland realized that this was not a Mayan god. This was an Assyrian God. An odd, small bunch that lived much westward than this place. Across the Kulullu Ocean.  
  
"Wayland, Anglo-Saxon God of Blacksmithing, Maker of the magical sword Balmung, Patron of Shoe-Makers and Friend of Horsemen, I greet you with a message." Came the burning voice of the god, probably a fire god.  
  
Wayland felt much better at being addressed by his full name, Egil and Ostara never did that. But, then again, this was clearly a servile messenger god that was told to perform such rites.  
  
"And you are?" Wayland asked.  
  
"Nusku, Assyrian God of Fire, Light, and Civilization, the Roadmaker and the Trailblazer, son of the god Sin, messenger of the gods, not to be confused with the Sumerian God of the same name." the fiery god bowed.  
  
"Nusku. You have a message?" Wayland asked. At that moment a Mayan warrior with a spear poked his head around the corner. Wayland grew to his twelve- foot tall counterpart in an instant, his clothes and hammer doing the same. It was not the tallest form he could become, which would be at a full thirty-foot height. He must fit inside the fortress.  
  
"My brother is beside the forge. Go to him." Wayland roared. With a flick of his wrist he let his hammer fly towards the Mayan. The weapon connected with the Mayan's head and shattered his skull. In the same moment, the hammer flew back towards Wayland's hand. Another Mayan warrior stepped over the corpse, turned his head and noticed Wayland right before the hammer sunk into his face.  
  
Nusku bowed once more and continued towards the room. He would get this message to someone. 


End file.
